style="font-size:15px;"> Tony did worse at the next stroke, and put down his cue. “It’s a fact that I can’t play to-night,” he said. “You were not with us at the bridge, and it wasn’t a nice thing we had to do. As to the other remark, I suppose I’ve got my worries like the rest of you; but since you will get on just as well without me I think I’ll go to bed.”
He went out, and the man who had spoken laughed. “That is just the one thing that is wrong with Tony – he gives up too easily and doesn’t play the game out when it seems to be going against him,” he said. “He had Bernard Appleby to help him through at school, but I have a notion that Miss Wayne would do as much for him now if he would let her, and if he’s wise he will. Men like Tony generally find somebody to stand behind them, but that slackness is the only fault anybody could find in him. Tony never did a crooked thing.”
“No,” said another man dryly. “Still, it is comparatively easy to go straight when you are never called upon to stand up under a deflecting pressure.”
“If Tony hasn’t had to do that yet, he will most certainly have to sooner or later, and Miss Wayne is the woman to help him,” said his companion. “Will you take his cue and finish the fifty for him, Lonsdale? It is, you see, quite the usual thing.”
Tony in the meanwhile sat staring at the grate in his room. No definite course had yet occurred to him, but he was conscious of a vague relief. Davidson, at least, could not come back to trouble him, and Tony knew that his daughter, whom he had done no wrong, did not possess her father’s pertinacity. He fancied she could be easily dealt with, and rising with a little shake of his shoulders he went to bed, and, as it happened, slept almost as well as usual. Next day, however, events commenced to happen, for during the morning Godfrey Palliser received a visit from a sergeant of police. Soon afterwards he sent for Tony, and it was with distinct uneasiness the latter entered the library.
Godfrey Palliser sat, gray-haired and somewhat grim of face, beside the fire; and he was a punctilious English gentleman with a respect for conventional traditions and no great penetration, to whom Tony owed his present status and all he hoped for in the future. He had led a simple, wholesome life, and though it was perhaps not unwarranted, placed an undue value upon the respect his tenants and neighbors accorded him.
“This is an especially unfortunate affair,” he said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tony, wondering what was coming.
Godfrey Palliser drummed on the chair arm with his fingers. “There will be an inquest, and as I am, most unfortunately in this case, a magistrate, Sergeant Stitt thought it fit to consult with me. He has suspicions that there has been foul play.”
“Stitt is a meddlesome idiot,” said Tony. “It seemed quite evident to me that Davidson struck his head when he fell off the bridge.”
The elder man made a gesture of negation. “Unfortunately he left his gun behind him. There was a dent on one barrel, and Stitt fancied that the grass round the spot where he found it had been trampled. That, and the condition of Davidson’s clothing, points to a scuffle.”
Tony gasped, for he had not expected this. “There is not a man in the neighborhood who would have injured Davidson,” he said.
Godfrey Palliser flashed a quick glance at him. “Do you know when Bernard left the hall the night before it happened?”
Tony braced himself with an effort. “I don’t quite remember, sir.”
“Then I can tell you. It was a few minutes after eleven, and he took the path to the footbridge. When he came back his clothes were muddy.”
Tony sat still a moment, horribly conscious that Godfrey Palliser was watching him. Then he broke out: “It’s wholly impossible, sir, unutterably absurd! Nobody would kill a man without the least motive.”
Godfrey Palliser’s face grew a trifle grimmer. “There may have been a motive. Lucy Davidson was pretty, and, I understand, vain and flighty, while she disappeared, I think, a little too suddenly. You will remember when Bernard was last here.”
Tony stood up, with a dampness on his face and his hands trembling. “Good Lord, sir, you can’t believe that!” he said. “Bernard never had any failings of the kind. It must” – and Tony gasped and stared round the room – “have been poachers. You will remember Evans said Davidson had gone out to look for somebody who had been laying snares.”
To his vast relief he saw that Palliser clutched at the suggestion. It would perhaps not have appeared very conclusive to another man, but Palliser was anxious as well as willing to be convinced, which makes a difference.
“Yes,” he said. “That is the most sensible thing you have said for a long while, and I sincerely hope events will prove you right. I am getting an old man, and if a connection of the family and a guest in my house had been guilty of such an intrigue and crime, I think I could scarcely have held up my head again. No breath of scandal has touched our name, and I could not forgive the man who brought a shadow of ill-repute upon it.”
The speech had its effect, for Tony was aware that he had nothing to expect if he forfeited Godfrey Palliser’s good opinion. He also quite realized the fact that he was singularly devoid of the qualities essential to the man who finds it necessary to make his own way in the world, and very much in love with Violet Wayne. These considerations made for silence. Tony, however, did not discover until later that the next person Palliser sent for was the girl. It was with reluctance he did so, and he stood up leaning against the mantel when he had drawn her out a chair.
“I understand that you saw Bernard Appleby immediately before he left the house the night before last,” he said.
The girl appeared perplexed. “I do not know how you came to hear of it, but as a matter of fact I did,” she said.
“Then “ – and Palliser made a little deprecatory gesture – “I feel sure, when I tell you that they are necessary, you will excuse me asking you a question or two. You met him in the corridor, I think with intent. What had he to say to you?”
A little flush crept into the girl’s face. “He asked me to give him ten pounds. This will no doubt astonish you!”
It certainly did, and had Godfrey Palliser been a little less punctilious he might have betrayed it. As it was, he said in a perfectly level voice, “May I ask you for what purpose?”
There was no hesitation about the answer, and as he met Violet Wayne’s eyes the unpleasant thoughts which momentarily obtruded themselves upon the man vanished again, and left him with a faint sense of shame.
“I had asked him to do me a favor which would entail some little expenditure,” she said. “It was, in fact, to do a kindness to somebody I wanted to benefit, and could not have any bearing on your object in making this inquiry. I know you will take my word for that.”
Godfrey Palliser was not gifted with much penetration, but the girl’s composure had its effect on him, and he made her a little respectful inclination. “It would go a long way with me, my dear, even if the testimony of my eyes were against it; and Tony never did a thing that pleased me more than when he told me he had succeeded in inducing you to marry him,” he said. “It is quite evident that you can throw no light on the affair.”
Violet Wayne left him, a little perplexed, but relieved. As he believed what she had told him implicitly, his thoughts fixed themselves upon Tony’s suggestion, and he commenced to sift what he had heard for anything that would confirm the poacher theory. He meant to do his duty as
